


Sharpened Edges

by orphan_account



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, Kinda self hatey, because fuck you that’s why, idk man, trans!wilbur, whooP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 02:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21420406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Wilbur knew that he was a he, some friends knew, but the entire world would never believe him. They all knew him as Wilma, the soft, British, YouTuber will a knack for guitar and singing
Comments: 7
Kudos: 104





	Sharpened Edges

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck AO3 for taking all my spacing and italics out bitch

Life was hard, life was sharp, and cruel. Life is all that held Wilbur back. Held him back from happiness, love, peace in his own body. A body shaped in the image of a goddess instead of a god.   
Wilbur knew that he was a he, some friends knew, but the entire world would never believe him. They all knew him as Wilma, the soft, British, YouTuber will a knack for guitar and singing. I’ll never be correct, he thought to himself.  
“Hey, Wil? You there?” The gravelly voice shocking him back to real life.   
“Yeah, sorry Schlatt, just thinking about your mum,” he quipped back.  
“Low blow man.” Schlatt replied, killing a chicken in Minecraft. They hadn’t streamed together in a while and Wilbur had to admit that he felt a comforting familiarity in the bad jokes of his friend.  
Wilbur and Schlatt played for a while more before signing off. They stayed on call for a bit, talking about when they should stream next and what their plans were for the following days.  
Wil took his headphones off, popping his neck and getting ready to get up. He headed towards the kitchen, settling down at the table with a bottle of water and a granola bar.   
He stared off into the distance, slowly feeling the drag of dysphoria pull him down. He shook his head, remembering what his therapist told him to do. Write it out, he could hear her telling him. He had always loved writing, enjoying the scratch of pen on paper of the tapping of a keyboard.  
He headed over to his room, determined to not sink into the self hate his brain so desperately desired. Reaching under his bed to his hiding spot, which he had had since middle school, and continued to keep even though he lived on his own, and pulled out his journal. It seemed nerdy to him, writing poetry, but it sure helped.   
I was shaped by a cruel god, all curves and no sharp edges. A burning soul placed in the ice of femininity. So I shape my own edges, the urge to take scissors to my own softness setting my soul back aflame. A soul within a body that will never match.   
He felt tears roll down his cheeks, he had to tell someone. The agony of people not knowing of them not knowing how bad it was, stung his soul.  
Wilbur turned to the computer, opened his email, which he rarely even used. He clicked on the box to type in who it was to, chicken pecking each letter of Schlatts email, checking over it once, twice, three times to make sure it was correct. His mouse hovered over the text box, unsure of what to type, or even what he was doing.   
Dear Schlatt,  
Hi, I don’t know how to tell you this, I don’t even know if I should. But it feels wrong to not let you know. I’m sorry if this ruins us, I hope whatever remains after this is something good, but if not, I understand. I hate that I can’t just tell you this in a call but I’m a wuss. I’m trans.   
With all the love in the world,  
Wilbur.  
He hit send, knowing Schlatt checked his email more often than he did. A sense of dread filled him. What if’s ran circles in his mind. What if Schlatt hated him, what if he outed him, what if he never replies, what if he doesn’t accept him and continues to misgender and deadname him. Tears slipped down his face for the second time that day, he couldn’t lose him, he couldn’t lose another friend. 

Ding

A little one hovered over his inbox, dread filled his gut. With nausea heavy in his stomach he opened the email. He read over it, finding comfort in the little heart emoji at the end, yet the dread didn’t leave. Schlatt wanted to call him.   
He left his email and opened up discord, calling Schlatt.

“Wil?”   
“Yeah, um, yeah, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have told you, I didn’t mean to bother you,” Wilbur babbled, trying and failing to hide his anxiety.  
“Hey, no it’s ok. I’m glad you told me, I uh just need to know what to call you ok?”  
“Oh, it’s Wilbur and he/him if you can.”  
“Of course, do you want me to call you that on stream or no?”  
“I know this sounds hard, and if you can’t that’s ok, but if you could just not call me anything that’d be perfect.”  
“Of course, I have to get to bed now, but if you need anything I’m always here for you ok?”  
“Ok.”  
“Goodnight Wilbur.”  
“Thank you, goodnight.”  
Wil hung up, letting out a sigh as he lay back. One down, thousands to go. But for tonight he felt at peace with himself. Wilbur smiled softly as he pictured what his friend looked like, knowing now that he would always be there. Was he tall? Strong? Blond? Brunette? Who knows? Wil sure didn’t, and to be honest, he didn’t care.   
Sleep seemed fleeting, yet Wilbur was filled with joy. Schlatt accepted him, and didn’t hate him, and would call him his correct name. It was around 5 am when Wil flung his legs over the side of his bed, done with sleep, and filled with energy. His footsteps echoed down the hallway as he searched for food.   
Cereal it is, he thought to himself. He poured a bowl of lucky charms out, leaning back against the counter in his boxers and a hoodie. He knew if he looked down his chest would fill him with hate, so he stared out the window at the crimson sky.   
After the world's quickest shower Wilbur was ready for the day. He shimmied into his binder and set up his camera.


End file.
